


The Greatest of Virtues

by Ralkana



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bedtime Stories, Curtain Fic, Future Fic, Kid Fic, M/M, The Author Has Opinions About The Giving Tree, Tumblr: otpprompts, parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-05
Updated: 2014-07-05
Packaged: 2018-02-07 13:09:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1900125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ralkana/pseuds/Ralkana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint always loves storytime with his daughter, but sometimes the lessons the books they read teach are not the lessons he wants her to learn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Greatest of Virtues

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer ~ Marvel's toys, not mine. I'm just playing with them.
> 
> Thanks to orderlychaos and infiniteeight8 for encouraging me to challenge myself with a daily word goal -- this probably wouldn't have been written without them. And thanks to amireal and lapillus for all their help.
> 
> Inspired by [this otpprompts post](http://otpprompts.tumblr.com/post/90365130597/imagine-person-a-of-your-otp-reading-their). Text from _The Giving Tree_ taken from [here](http://allpoetry.com/The-Giving-Tree).

 

Clint lounges in the doorway, arms crossed as he leans against the doorjamb and watches the nightly routine. It's pretty close to his favorite time of day, and he's always thankful to be a part of it.

He's seen Phil's hands hold weapons and explosives, he's seen them bruised, battered, and bloodied -- with Phil's blood and otherwise -- he's seen them cradle cups of coffee and expensive collectibles. He's felt them against his skin, full of power and grace, desire and need. He loves Phil's hands in general, but especially right now, elegant and gentle as he carefully brushes their daughter's thick, waist length hair.

Nodding and humming in acknowledgment as he listens to Gabi chatter about her day, Phil carefully divides her hair in half, swiftly braiding it into two plaits. It's done quickly now, after so much practice, but Clint grins at the memory of his and Phil's first terrible, lopsided braiding attempts.

"Done," Phil announces as he sets down the brush, pressing a kiss to the top of Gabi's head. She smiles up at him and jumps off the bed, but holds out her hands when he picks up the nightgown he'd laid out on the bed.

"I can do it," she says stubbornly, and Clint grins again, a little wistfully this time. At four, their daughter is asserting her independence in new ways every day.

"Please, Papa," she wheedles, and Clint watches Phil fold like a cheap lawn chair when faced with her big brown eyes. Phil nods, handing the nightgown over, and Clint can't exactly blame him for giving in when he sees the way Gabi beams at him as she starts changing.

The nightgown is her favorite, covered with Captain America's shield, Mjölnir, tiny red hourglasses, bows, arrows, and little cartoon figures of Gabi's daddy and all his friends. She wears it so often that the fabric is growing thin long before she's gotten too big for it, which is a feat, considering how quickly she grows.

Now pajama-clad, she starts to climb into bed, but Phil reminds her, "Dirty clothes in the hamper," and she slaps her hand to her forehead, and then scampers around the room, picking up all her clothes and putting them where they're supposed to go.

Last chore of the night done, she crawls into bed and snuggles down into the blankets that Phil pulls over her.

"I'm thirsty, Papa. Can I have a glass of water?" she asks as Phil smiles down at her, smoothing her bangs off her forehead.

"Nice try, Short Stuff," he says easily, settling one hip on the bed. "You've had your glass of water, right?" When she nods, he adds, ticking them off on his fingers, "And had a bath, and brushed your teeth, and went potty, and you're in your pajamas, and we brushed your hair, right?"

When she nods again, he reaches over and tweaks the nose of her Hawkeye bear, complete with fake leather vest and plastic sunglasses and bow. "And you have your bear, and you picked a book for Daddy to read."

He lifts the bright green book and shows it to her, and she nods again, her eyes already drooping at the steady cadence of his calm voice. "Then it's time for bed," he concludes. "You've got a busy day tomorrow, school in the morning, and then Natasha's picking you up after, so you need to get some rest."

"'kay," she murmurs, and Clint memorizes the moment as Phil smiles softly, leaning down to kiss her goodnight. He might not be able to take photos along when he goes on ops, but this memory will stay with him, something to pull out when he's missing them both so much he can barely stand it, on cold, lonely nights when he imagines all of this must have been a dream because there's no way something this good could ever be his.

"Love you, Papa," she whispers.

"I love you too, Gabriela. Sweet dreams." Book in hand, he stands and crosses the room toward Clint, handing it off. "All yours," he murmurs.

They normally trade places, Phil watching from the doorway while Clint reads to Gabi, but as Phil gets nearer, Clint can hear the buzz of Phil's phone in his pocket. Not many people interrupt their family time anymore, so Clint knows Phil will probably step away to answer it.

Clint bumps into him with a fond hip check, and Phil smiles as he heads down the hall. Clint grins as he feels Phil's hand ghost over his back and briefly squeeze his ass, but when Clint glances back, Phil is calmly continuing on his way, one hand slipping into his pocket to pull out his phone.

He steps up to the bed, smiling as Gabi grins up at him through sleepy, half-lidded eyes.

"What's shakin', Daddy?" she asks, and he tugs lightly at her earlobe.

"Not much, Bug, what's shakin' with you?"

She scowls, pretending -- as always -- that she hates the nickname. "Not a bug."

"Oh, yeah, you are. You're my bug. My Gabi Bug. What are we reading tonight, Gabi Bug?"

Settling half his ass on the bed, he leans back against the headboard and opens the book to the title page. The spine creaks as he does, the telltale crackle of a new book. Clint has happily embraced his nightly storytime duties -- reading together wasn't exactly important in the Barton household, and he's determined to change that with his own daughter. He knows he's not the best reader, but Gabi doesn't care, and neither does Phil, and the way Gabi giggles at some of the stories they read makes up for his embarrassment at his occasional pauses and stumbles.

"The Giving Tree," he reads. "By Shel Silverstein."

Turning the page, he smiles briefly at the sight of the simple illustration. "'Once there was a tree... and she loved a little boy.'"

The story is simple, the sentences short, and it goes smoothly, for a while.

> _"I am too big to climb and play," said the boy. "I want to buy things and have fun. I want some money?"_
> 
> _"I'm sorry," said the tree, "but I have no money. I have only leaves and apples. Take my apples, Boy, and sell them in the city. Then you will have money and you will be happy."_
> 
> _And so the boy climbed up the tree and gathered her apples and carried them away._

He frowns down at the page and then glances at Gabi, whose eyes are closed, her breathing steady, and keeps reading, doing his best to keep the dismay out of voice.

> _And the tree was happy._
> 
> _But the boy stayed away for a long time..._
> 
> _and the tree was sad._

By the time he's finished, the dismay has become outrage, and he stares at the last page in disbelief.

"'And the tree was happy.' Seriously?" he mutters. "What the..."

Censoring himself by long practice, he glances up as Phil slips back into the doorway. Clint's voice is harsh when he brandishes the book and asks, "Have you read this?"

Phil winces, glancing at Gabi, and Clint follows his gaze, taking a deep breath to calm himself. Gabi is sleeping, her long lashes dark on her cheeks, and a rush of helpless love momentarily whites out the anger he's feeling.

He eases off the bed, straightening the blankets and tucking Gabi's bear closer into her side before leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. He breathes in the baby shampoo smell of her hair and does his best to let it calm him.

Running a hand once more over her hair to smooth her bangs away from her face, he turns to see Phil watching him, mild concern in his eyes.

"Who called?" Clint asks, because that may be more important than everything else. He turns off the bedroom light and pulls the door mostly shut behind him, the book still clutched in one hand.

Phil turns with him as they head for the living room, his hand a warm and welcome weight at the small of Clint's back.

"Just Trip," Phil answers, veering into the kitchen to grab a bottle of beer from the fridge. He gestures at Clint with it, raising an eyebrow, and Clint nods, so Phil grabs another bottle. "Asking for advice," he continues as he pops the caps off. "Nothing important."

Handing Clint his beer, he settles onto the couch, and glances up at Clint, waiting for him to sit as well. Clint shakes his head instead, thrusting the book at him.

"Have you read this book?"

Phil takes it from him and looks at the cover, brow furrowing. "I think I may have, when I was Gabi's age, maybe a little older. I think it was one of her birthday gifts, though I don't remember who gave it to her. I'd have to look at the list to find out. Why?"

"Read it," Clint says tersely, setting his beer down on the coffee table and crossing his arms over his chest. Phil raises an eyebrow at the demanding tone, but opens the book even so. He reads silently, flipping quickly through the pages, and Clint is relieved to see him frown as he progresses through the story. He looks up when he's done, a contemplative expression on his face.

"I think it's supposed to be a parable about the joys of selflessness, or maybe it's about unconditional love, and the relationship between parent and child."

Clint stares at him. "...yeah, if your kid is a selfish prick!"

"Clint -- "

"It's not even about the tree, though she definitely could learn to drop a couple nos, tell the kid, 'I'm not giving you my apples to sell, asshole, go make your own money,' but he doesn't say thank you, Phil, not _once!_ The damn tree gives and gives and gives, she gives _everything_ , and the brat just takes and takes and takes and doesn't appreciate a damn thing. Is this what we want Gabi to read? What we want her to learn?"

"We can -- "

"She's been through so much, Phil, I know she has, and she's finally starting to feel safe, I can tell, in a way I never did -- and it's not like I ever want her to be hungry or scared or hurting again, of course not, but... she's growing up in this tower and she has everything she could ever want, and I… I don't want her to end up like the kid in that book. It's not that I don't think we should to give her everything we can, but she's just, _we're_ just... we're so fucking _lucky_."

His voice breaks, and he realizes he's been pacing the length of the living room, so he stops with a sigh, dropping his head. He turns to face Phil, who's watching him with understanding and heartbreak written across the face that Clint knows so well.

"Come here," he says softly, and Clint scrubs his hands over his face and moves toward the couch. Before he can sit down, Phil tugs on Clint's wrist to pull Clint down into his lap. He wraps his arms around Clint, pressing a kiss to Clint's temple and nuzzling gently at Clint's skin. It tickles, and Clint lets out a small huff of embarrassed laughter. Curling into Phil's chest, he buries his face in Phil's neck, breathing in the familiar scent of Phil's aftershave.

Clint starts to mumble an apology for overreacting, but Phil's hand strokes soothingly through his hair, hushing him. Clint bites his lip to keep from whispering, _I just don't want to fuck this up._

"Gabriela is happy and healthy, Clint. She's adjusted well to living here, to being with us -- she hasn't had a nightmare in months now. She's fine. She's not selfish, and that's not something that we're going to let her learn. We'll read her the book again, together -- "

Clint opens his mouth to protest, but Phil's hand lightly squeezes the back of his neck, so he closes it.

"We'll read it to her together," Phil says again, "And we'll explain why we don't like it."

"We'll show her why it sucks," Clint realizes, "To teach her the opposite."

"Exactly," Phil says, and Clint feels Phil's smile against his temple. He frowns a little. Phil is so much better at this parenting thing than he is --

"You think I'm not just as worried about screwing her up as you are?" Phil whispers directly into his ear, and Clint shivers at the sensation, and then laughs.

"It helps that you're a mind reader," he mutters.

"Hmm," Phil says, grinning, and then he presses a kiss to the spot below Clint's earlobe that always makes Clint's breath catch in his throat. Lips still pressed to Clint's skin, he murmurs, "So, tomorrow night, we'll turn this into the lesson we _want_ her to learn. In the meantime, she's sleeping, and we are all alone..."

It only takes a little shift for Clint to turn in Phil's arms and catch Phil's lips with his, and all thoughts of selfish brats and martyr-like trees fly out of his head.

 

**~ ~ ~ ~ ~**

 

Clint whistles happily as he turns the french toast in the pan. A quick glance at the table shows Phil -- suit as impeccable as it's always been since the very first glimpse Clint ever had of him -- sipping his coffee and discussing pre-K crushes and romantic entanglements with Gabi with the same weight he often lends to discussions of world-ending events. Clint can't help fondly shaking his head as he plates breakfast for the three of them.

He easily carries everything to the table, sadly refraining from juggling the butter, syrup, and silverware the way he'd like to, to make Gabi laugh -- juggling has been banned from the Barton-Coulson kitchen, and for good reason.

Setting a plate of french toast in front of Gabi, he quickly butters it for her and hands her the syrup, ready to grab it back if disaster threatens.

She breaks off in the middle of the story she's telling Phil to beam at Clint, and her happy little face makes his stomach swoop. He wonders if he'll ever get used to that feeling.

"Thank you, Daddy!" she says easily, completely without being prompted, and Clint can feel Phil's amusement next to him. He glances over to see Phil hide his smile behind a strip of bacon.

"Yes," Phil says once he's swallowed, his voice full of sly humor. "Thank you, honey, for making breakfast."

"You're welcome, dear," Clint says archly, and then he turns to Gabi, chucking her under the chin with his knuckle. "And you're welcome too, Gabi Bug. Now eat your breakfast."

**END**

**~ ~ ~ ~ ~**

“Gratitude is not only the greatest of virtues, but the parent of all others.” ~ Cicero


End file.
